Queen
by Osidiano
Summary: Apollo Justice, post-game. Living in Germany meant Gavin missed out on all the fun American terminology Californians tend to use.


Disclaimer/Note: I do not own the Phoenix Wright games, or any of the characters mentioned in this story. They belong to the series' creator and Capcom. I am not making any money from this, so please do not sue me. This story was written solely for my own amusement and that of anyone choosing to read it. The fic takes post-game (Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney), and is **unbeta'd**. Apologies if Klavier's dialog seems stilted; I've never written him before.

**Queen**

"_Hold it!_" the shout was paired with a familiar accusing posture: body angled slightly away, arm outstretched with one finger pointing rudely at the listener. Prosecutor Gavin had to resist the urge to cross his eyes at that finger when refocusing his gaze from the speaker's face. Normally, he would have brushed it aside without so much as a second glance, but when the finger was right in front of his nose instead of from across a courtroom, he found it much more difficult. Gavin arched a pale brow and gave his fellow attorney a dubious look, as if daring him for the follow-up.

Which, true to form and tradition, was exactly what he got.

"I may be an over-imaginative spaz who doesn't always think everything through before speaking—" it was said in a rush without pause for breath, which made Gavin smile as the young lawyer finished vehemently "—but at least I'm not a _queen_ like _you_!"

Gavin's smile went from amused to bewildered, his head tilting to one side as if a change in perspective would make Apollo's comment somehow less confusing.

"Ah, I am sorry to have to be the one to inform you of this, Herr Forehead," and while Gavin did sound apologetic, it was in that obnoxiously condescending manner that adults use when gently correcting their hyperactive, know-it-all children. "But Queen disbanded in the eighties, and while the Gavinners are certainly classy, they fail to fit the 'classic rock' criteria. If anything, I'd be closer to Scorpions; at least _they_ were German, ja?"

"Th-that. . . That's not what I meant, actually. . ." Apollo rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, his other coming to rest on his hip, and a sheepish grin taking up residence on his countenance. Gavin's confusion only grew, the quizzical look becoming more prominent. Apollo seemed to notice, and tried to further elaborate. "I mean that you're a _flaming queen_, Gavin."

"_Achtung!_ My guitar has only ever caught fire _once_, and it was through no fault of my own," Gavin grumbled, a touch bitterly as the subject was still a sore one for him. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "Besides, if not an ill-conceived attempt at a musical reference, then I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It's slang," Apollo said it slowly, as if to soften a potentially fatal blow to Gavin's ego. "You know. . .for an. . .openly. . .gay man?"

The explanation had ended in a question and a wince at Gavin's sudden change of expression. The prosecutor was shocked, mouth hanging open slightly at the incredulous thought. _Him, _Klavier Gavin, _gay_? How could Apollo believe that, let alone have the confidence in such a claim as to suggest it in a court lobby? After a moment of staring stupidly at his rival, Gavin's anger exploded in a snarling German tirade, telling Apollo—in great detail—about all the women he had been with over the years. He waxed poetic about all the girls he would continue to have, waxing a bit poetic over the fact that he was a ridiculously wealthy and internationally famous rock star, in addition to being a legal prodigy and _very_ hetero sex symbol.

But, as Apollo had already confided a week earlier, aside from the occasional '_nein_' and '_ja_,' the defense attorney knew absolutely zero German and so had missed out on everything Gavin had said in the last fifteen minutes. Also, he was starting to grin like an idiot at a science fair.

"At any given moment, _Herr Forehead_," Gavin growled out through clenched teeth, fists balled at his sides now as he carefully controlled his rage. "There are no less than three women staring at photos and concert videos of me while masturbating furiously to the sound of my voice."

Apollo was quiet for a moment, looking down at the lobby room floor and biting his lower lip. At first, Gavin thought that he might have been rubbing salt into an open wound—he knew, just by looking at that spiky hair, that Apollo was a little insecure with his personal appearance—or perhaps he had just embarrassed the young man. However, when Apollo finally managed to lift his head and meet Gavin's own piercing gaze, the prosecutor could see that the other attorney was trying very _very_ hard not to burst into laughter. He scowled.

Apollo had never been one known for his patience or ability to hold back, and promptly cracked under the pressure. He laughed so hard it brought tears to his eyes and he had to hold onto Gavin's arm to keep from falling. Gavin sulked, glaring death and daggers at anyone in the lobby who happened to glance their way.


End file.
